


Every Last Inch of Me's Covered With Hair

by tinamachina



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-14
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 05:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2455943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinamachina/pseuds/tinamachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the following prompt: "Beauty and the Beast (any version). any. The curse doesn't break, it just passes on to the closest person who deserves it, by making him exchange bodies with Beast."</p>
<p>Gaston becomes a more horrifying Beast, and he is out for revenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Last Inch of Me's Covered With Hair

He survived. Of course he did.  No beast could ever best the great Gaston.  Death itself would never dare touch the great Gaston!

His victorious chuckle echoed throughout the chasm, deep and guttural.   He let out a laugh, but the sound that escaped his throat sounded less human and more like a bear’s growl or a wolf’s bark or some unholy combination of the two.   He ran his paws through his gorgeous hair, sharp claws raking his scalp…

Wait, paws?!   Gaston looked with horror at the massive, gnarled paws where his hands once were, covered in thick, midnight-black fur.  Gaston took pride in the fact that he was a hairy man, but the fur spread across his burly arms and, as he tore his shirt wide open, his muscular chest.  He felt his face.  His once perfect face felt different: his nose flatter and wider, his cheeks hairier.  He ran his tongue over razor sharp teeth.  His head felt heavier, and Gaston felt two large, curly horns on both sides of his forehead.

Gaston howled with rage.

 

It took a day to navigate his way out of the chasm. He climbed his way upward, claws digging into the cliff face, steadily making his way up to the forests above.  He discarded his torn and ruined boots; his hooves were better made for clawing and grabbing onto whatever little purchase existed on the cliff face.  His grunts and growls rumbled through the chasm, like an oncoming storm that the provincial town could not foresee coming…

 

He dared not show his face in his own tavern, but the songs from inside carried out of the windows and spilled out into the darkened streets: Gaston had sacrificed his life to slay the beast, allowing the long lost prince to return. The Prince was so grateful to the village that he chose the most beautiful girl, that funny little Belle, to be his wife.

“So let us raise another pint,” LeFou declared, “to our Gaston, who made this all possible!”

The shouts of celebration quickly turned into screams of horror as a big, black beast crashed through the window and ripped poor LeFou’s head from his shoulders.

 

They will all have to die. Gaston galloped through the forest like a wild boar, his hunger for blood merely whetted by those little morsels in the tavern.  Although he pretended to pay little attention to them, one of tavern mademoiselles was surprisingly sweet and succulent.  Her tears mingled well with her blood as he devoured her in a few ravenous chops.  But it was not her flesh that Gaston craved, as he thundered his way to the castle.

He had a plan: Rip as many throats as possible to get to the Prince and his lady. Capture them both, but don’t kill them immediately.  Instead, break them, drag them away from any possibility of rescue or escape.  Start with the prince.  Make that crazy bitch Belle watch as Gaston rips that soft aristocratic belly open with his dagger-like claws, then spill out his innards.  Listen to that spoiled, weak little prince scream as Gaston feasts on his organs like sausage.  His liver should be the fattest, most juicy part. 

Once he’s had his fill of prince meat, Gaston would turn all of his attentions to Belle. She was never sane to begin with.  It was clear that she had a thing for hairy animals.  All that time in the castle, she had developed a sick, twisted attachment to the Beast Prince.  So she should have no objection to Gaston pouncing upon her, spreading her open like her stupid old books and taking what was rightfully his.  She’ll scream, of course.  She should already be accustomed to beast slobber dripping on her face, to beast cock being pounded into her tight little cunt, after all those nights of being the Beast’s slave.  But whatever the Beast Prince had, Gaston knows his is bigger, and he is not going to be kind or gentle.  Maybe he’ll eat her after he’s done with her, or maybe he’ll keep her alive as his own slave.  He still wanted his six or seven sons.

Gaston approached the castle. He howled with anticipation.  Yes, his was a good plan.  Except a bullet piercing his brain was not part of his plan.

 

“What was that?” Belle turned to the window where Adam stood with his rifle.

“A wolf,” Adam said plainly, looking out into the moonlight night, “nothing more. Go back to your book, my love.”

As Belle turned back into her book, Adam set the rifle back into its rack, and tucked the mirror into its drawer.   In the morning, he’ll prepare a mourning gift for the village, and a big black pelt for his den.


End file.
